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(F. title) 


HENRY W. LONGFELLOW 




TALES FROM 


LONGFELLOW 


BY 


GERTRUDE RUTH SCHOTTENFELS 

CHICAGO, ILL. 


EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BOSTON 

New York Chicago 


San Francisco 



% 


Copyright, 1909 

BY 

EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 


©CI.A253215 


INTRODUCTION 

There is a great deal of good literature, which 
the children of the Fourth Grade are able to appre- 
ciate and enjoy, if it can only be obtained in a form 
suitable for their years. The following stories by 
Longfellow are entirely beyond the children in their 
original form. But rewritten in simple prose, they 
are eagerly read and thoroughly enjoyed by the 
little folks for whom they were written. 

The children of my own classes read the story of 
Evangeline , The Courtship of Miles Standish , and 
two of the Tales oj a Wayside Inn , without any 
effort. Their enjoyment and appreciation of the 
same, has encouraged me to publish them in book 
form, that they might be enjoyed by the children 
of future classes. 


3 


CONTENTS 

Evangeline, a Tale of Acadie . 
The Courtship of Miles Standish . 
The Falcon of Ser Federigo 
King Robert of Sicily . 


• 7 
65 
. 109 
119 


4 


THE STORY OF 
EVANGELINE 



MAP OP ACADIE {From an old print) 







































































































































0 



(F. 7) 


EVANGELINE 


( Faed ) 







Tales from Longfellow 


THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

CHAPTER I 

How the English Gained Acadia 

Most of you, my little readers, have 
studied the lives of the early French ex- 
plorers, and know something about their 
marvelous discoveries and exciting adven- 
tures. No doubt, you have tarried at the 
Straits of Mackinac and Green Bay Mission, 
with the gentle priest and Indian teacher, 
Father Marquette. 

You have sailed with him and the daunt- 
less Joliet down the unknown waters of the 

7 


8 


Tales from Longfellow 


Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, amid the 
painted rocks, and the hostile and friendly 
Indian tribes. Perhaps in fancy you have 
sailed with Joliet on his wonderful return 
voyage down the St. Lawrence River to 
Quebec, and have heard his glowing ac- 
counts of that journey into Wonderland, 
and the story of his overturned canoe at 
the Lachine Rapids, and of how he lost the 
records of that marvelous first trip made 
by white men down the Mississippi. 

Perhaps you may have helped the gallant 
La Salle and his faithful Tonti build and 
launch the Griffin , the first vessel other 
than Indian canoes which ever stirred the 
ripples on the placid surface of the Great 
Lakes. You may even have been with 
him when they were taken captive by the 
Indians on the river, and your gentle hearts 
no doubt swelled with pity and indignation 
at the treatment which they suffered at the 


Tales from Longfellow 9 

hands of these cruel, wild children of the 
woods. 

You may also, in imagination, have 
assisted in planting the French banner at 
the mouth of the Mississippi, and in bury- 
ing the leaden plate, upon which all their 
names were inscribed. If so, I need not 
tell you, that the French laid claim to all 
of our Great Central Plain, from the ice- 
bound northern shores of Hudson Bay to 
the sunny southern coast of the Gulf of 
Mexico, and from the towering Rockies on 
the west to the green-clad forests of the 
Alleghanies on the east. 

The English, as you know, occupied a 
narrow strip of land between the Alleghany 
Mountains and the Atlantic Ocean. But 
since several of the English colonies held 
charters from their King, entitling them to 
vast tracts of land in the Mississippi Valley, 
it was inevitable that disputes should have 


io Tales from Longfellow 

arisen, and having arisen, it was but natural 
that they should have been settled by force 
of arms. 

In 1713, after one of these conflicts, 
known in history as Queen Anne’s War, 
a treaty of peace was made, in which the 
French acknowledged the claims of the 
English to the land around Hudson Bay, 
and also ceded or gave up to them Acadia, 
which at that time comprised New Bruns- 
wick, Nova Scotia, and what is now our 
present state of Maine. 

No sooner had the English gained pos- 
session of this land, than they changed the 
name, Acadia, to Nova Scotia, and set 
about converting the people into good 
English subjects. 

One of the oldest and perhaps the very 
greatest of our English poets has said, “ Un- 
easy lies the head which wears a crown.” 
And so it proved in this case with King 


Tales from Longfellow n 

George, who had succeeded Queen Anne 
upon the throne. He began to see that 
it was no easy task to teach these people 
to forget their mother tongue, and to ac- 
cept the ways and customs of a strange 
race. 

He began to see it was no easy task to 
wean their faithful hearts away from their 
mother country. And so, after a few years 
had elapsed, he began to be restless and 
uneasy, fearing that if these Acadians were 
allowed to remain, they might at some 
future time revolt and wrest the land from 
his keeping. 

So he plotted and planned with his 
counsellors, and at last conceived a way 
to prevent such a thing ever happening. 
He would declare all their lands and pos- 
sessions forfeit to the Crown, and would 
exile and scatter them broadcast through- 
out the length and breadth of the land. 


12 


Tales from Longfellow 


They should dwell everywhere, through- 
out his realm, surrounded on all sides by 
his trusted faithful subjects, and if this 
failed to make loyal subjects of them, it 
would at least prevent any concerted action 
against him on their part. And this is 
exactly what he did do, leaving a cowardly 
blot for all time on the fair pages of Eng- 
land’s history. 

In his beautiful poem, “Evangeline,” 
Longfellow has told us the tale of King 
George’s cruelty. Perhaps some of you 
have heard the story; at any rate, I am 
sure you will all read the poem for your- 
selves when you are older, and in the 
meantime, I am going to tell you the story 
in as simple words as possible. 


CHAPTER II 

* The Little Village of Grand Pre 

In the pleasant land of Acadia, lay a 
fruitful river valley, and in this fertile 
valley lay the little village of Grand Pre. 
The sea was on the east, and the farmers 
had with much patient toil, built up huge 
dikes, such as they have in Holland, to 
keep out its waters. There were meadows 
all along this side, covered with long rich 
grass, which furnished pasture for the hun- 
dreds of sleek cattle, which were driven 
there to graze each day. 

Away to the west the setting sun lighted 
up vast waving fields of wheat and corn, 

and off to the southward lay great, heavily- 

13 


14 


Tales from Longfellow 


fruited orchards, whose delicious fragrance 
was wafted abroad by the breezes. 

The people of Grand Pre were upright 
French peasants, who industriously tilled 
the soil, and gathered in their harvests with 
thankful hearts. They were a simple God- 
fearing people, who believed in the brother- 
hood of man, and lived up to the good old- 
fashioned doctrine of loving one’s neighbor 
as one’s self. 

They lived in good substantial houses, 
which they themselves had fashioned from 
the sturdy forest trees. The houses were 
very quaint looking, with their thatched 
gable roofs and little dormer windows. 
They were a prosperous people, as their 
well-stocked stables and overflowing barns 
could testify, and so simple, honest, and 
trusting, that in all the years they had lived 
there, it had never once occurred to them 
to put locks on their doors and windows. 


Tales from Longfellow 15 

The most beloved person in the whole 
village was the good priest, Father Felician, 
who presided over this little rural flock. 
He passed freely from house to house, 
sure of a hearty welcome wherever he 
might go, and sharing in every joy and 
sorrow in the entire village. 

Even the little children loved him, and 
whenever he appeared in the village streets 
they would stop their play and run to 
meet him. He loved them, one and all 
impartially, and knew each child by name. 

A little apart from the others, lay the 
home of Benedict Bellefontaine, the most 
wealthy farmer of Grand Pre. He was 
hale and hearty, and wore the weight of 
his seventy years as lightly as a wreath of 
roses. His wife had been dead many years, 
and his daughter, Evangeline, a beautiful 
girl of seventeen, presided over his house- 
hold as ably as a woman twice her years. 


1 6 Tales from Longfellow 

She was kind and thoughtful toward 
all, and was loved by everyone, young and 
old, rich and poor. Many a hot summer 
day did she walk the whole length of the 
burning fields, to carry flagons of cold, 
home-made ale to the reapers in her father’s 
employ. She was known throughout the 
village as the Sunshine of Saint Eulalie. 

Her father’s dearest friend was Basil, 
the village blacksmith. He, too, was a 
widower, with an only child, a son, named 
Gabriel. Gabriel and Evangeline had been 
playmates from earliest childhood. Father 
Felician had taken a great pride in them, 
and had taught them their letters out of 
the self-same book. 

Their greatest amusement as children 
had been to visit Basil in his shop. He 
seemed a veritable hero to them, in his 
leathern apron. They never tired of watch- 
ing him heat the iron red-hot, and beat it 


Tales from Longfellow 


i7 


into shape with his heavy sledge-hammer. 
Nor did any music on earth seem as sweet 
to them as the music of the anvil. 

They loved to see the flaming forge 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks which fly 
Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

They would watch the fire by the hour, 
and when the sparks died down into ashes, 
they would laugh aloud and cry, “Oh, see 
the nuns going to chapel!” Then they 
would sing the hymns which Father 
Felician had taught them. 

So they had grown up together, and 
soon they were going to be married. And, 
on the evening upon which our story opens, 
the notary public had accompanied Basil 
and Gabriel to Evangeline’s home to draw 
up the marriage contract. While Bene- 
dict and Basil were deciding upon the 
things they wished to settle upon their 


1 8 Tales from Longfellow 

children, the young people stood at the 
window, watching the stars come out in 
the evening sky. 

“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
Heaven, 

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of 
the angels.” 

In the room overhead lay great chests 
of linen, which Evangeline had spun with 
her own fair hands, and which bore silent 
witness to her industrious nature. It had 
been a veritable work of love to her, to 
water them night and morning, as they lay 
out in the orchard on the grass, bleaching 
in the sun. And now they were all bleached 
and folded neatly, with sprigs of sweet- 
smelling lavender between, and laid away 
in the great oaken chest, awaiting the 
marriage day. 

At length the deed was drawn up, and 
duly witnessed and signed. Then the old 


i9 


Tales from Longfellow 

men sat smoking and talking together, 
around the little table. Finally the talk 
turned to the English ships in the harbor, 
and they fell to wondering what their 
mission might be. A few days previously, 
some ships from England had sailed into 
the harbor of Grand Pre, and had lain 
there at anchor ever since. 

The people were very curious to learn 
their errand. Some thought that perhaps 
there had been a blight in England, and 
that these ships had come to get a part of 
their plenteous harvest, which had already 
been garnered in, to prevent a famine in 
England. Others were more distrustful, 
and some had even fled to the outskirts of 
the forests, fearing they knew not what. 

And now, as the old men sat talking it 
over together, the notary public informed 
them, that at last their curiosity was to be 
satisfied; for that very day word had been 


20 Tales from Longfellow 

sent abroad, that at the signal of the drum, 
all the people of Grand Pre were to meet 
together in the village church, to hear His 
Majesty’s pleasure. 


CHAPTER III 

The Message of King George 

Among the doubting ones was Basil, 
the village blacksmith. “You may depend 
upon it,” he said, “these ships mean no 
good to our people.” Then he cited cases 
of injustice, which were being done to the 
people each day, and upon which he based 
his present fears. He declared that might 
had taken the place of right, and that all 
the King knew how to do, was to oppress 
the people. 

The notary public sought to calm his 
fears, and soothe him by answering that, 
while man was frequently unjust, God was 
ever just, and that somehow in the end, 


22 Tales from Longfellow 

justice always triumphed. He declared 
that God always vindicated the right, 
and to prove it, told them the following 
story, which had been a source of great 
comfort to him, while he was held a pris- 
oner in the old fort at Port Royal. 

THE STATUE OF JUSTICE 

Once upon a time, in an ancient city, 
a statue of Justice stood on a high pillar 
in the public square. It was made of 
brass, and it held a pair of scales in its 
left hand. In its right hand was a flashing 
sword to show that Justice ruled over the 
land. Moreover, the figure was blind- 
folded, as an emblem that Justice is im- 
partial, and treats everybody alike. Even 
the little birds had built their nests in the 
scales, having no fear of the sword, which 
flashed in the sunlight above them. 


Tales from Longfellow 


2 3 


But after a time, the laws of the land 
became corrupted. Might took the place 
of right, and the mighty ruled with an 
iron hand. Everywhere, all over the land, 
the weak were bent beneath the yoke of 
oppression. 

So it happened once, that a valuable 
necklace of pearls was lost in a nobleman’s 
palace. It was searched for high and low, 
but not a trace of it could be found. Then 
it chanced that suspicion fell upon an 
orphan girl, who lived as a maid in the 
household; probably because she was so 
young, and poor, and friendless, and had 
no one to take her part. 

She protested that she had not taken it, 
but could not prove her innocence, so she 
was condemned to die on the scaffold. 
She met her fate like a heroine, at the 
foot of the statue of Justice. And lo! just 
as she breathed her last, a great storm 


24 Tales from Longfellow 

arose in the city. The sky grew black, 
the wind blew a hurricane, the thunder 
pealed, and a bolt of lightning struck the 
statue and hurled the scales from its hand. 

They fell to the pavement with a crash, 
and what did the frightened populace see, 
but a magpie’s nest built in their hollow; 
and there, woven into the walls of clay, 
lay the necklace of pearls in the nest. 

When the notary had finished his story, 
the little group broke up and parted for 
the night. 

The next day dawned clear and fair. 
It was the day of Evangeline’s betrothal 
party. The entire village, each dressed in 
his Sunday best, came and feasted out in 
the open air, where the tables were set 
under the trees. Then Michael, the village 
fiddler, tuned his instrument, and struck 
up a lively air, and with one accord, all 
the people, young folks and old folks to- 


Tales from Longfellow 


25 


gether, danced beneath the orchard trees, 
and down the paths to the meadows. 

The sunlight streamed down on their 
bare heads and wind-blown hair. It was 
a beautiful scene. Everyone was joyous 
and happy. 

Suddenly, in the very midst of their 
merrymaking, they heard the village bell 
toll, and even as they listened, they heard 
the quick beat of the drum, calling them 
to church. They hurried there in a body, 
glad that their curiosity was to be satisfied 
at length. Many lamented the fact that 
they were unarmed, for when their land 
had passed into the hands of the English, 
all their weapons had been taken from 
them, and carried out of the country. 

But Benedict, Evangeline’s father, de- 
clared that, though unarmed, they were 
safer here, in the midst of their meadows 
and flocks, than their fathers had been in 


26 


Tales from Longfellow 


their forts, for here there was nothing but 
the sea to besiege them. 

When they arrived at the church, the 
men were despatched inside, and the 
women were detained in the churchyard. 
While they were waiting here, they gathered 
fresh garlands of evergreen and autumn 
leaves, to hang on the headstones over the 
graves. 

All at once they saw the guards marching 
from the ships to the church, and much 
speculation was rife, as to what could be 
the meaning of this. Alas! those inside, 
found out only too soon. For as soon as 
the last soldier had gained the inside, the 
doors of the church were securely locked, 
and the commander mounted the steps of 
the altar, and proclaimed His Majesty’s 
edict. 

“You are met here to-day,” he said, 
“by His Majesty’s order, and it has be- 


Tales from Longfellow 


27 


come my painful duty to tell you that 
since you have repaid His Majesty’s kind- 
ness with disloyal feelings of heart, he has 
decreed that you shall be transplanted and 
scattered from this province, throughout 
the length and breadth of this land; and 
that all your farms and your dwellings, all 
your lands and your harvests, all your 
sheep and your cattle shall be forfeited to 
the Crown! I therefore declare you my 
prisoners; such is His Majesty’s pleasure.” 


CHAPTER IV 
Driven into Exile 

For a moment the farmers stood as if 
turned to stone; then moved by one com- 
mon impulse, they madly rushed to the 
door, only to find it locked. Then wild 
cries and curses rent the air, and Basil, 
his face distorted with passion, shrieked at 
the top of his voice, “Down with these 
tyrants of England! Down with these 
foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes 
and our harvests! Death to these pitiless 
tyrants! We never have sworn them allegi- 
ance !” 

Just as the soldiers were preparing to 
fall upon them, the door of the chancel 

28 


Tales from Longfellow 


29 


opened, and above them the form of Father 
Felician rose into view. He quietly raised 
his hand, and the tumult died into silence. 
Then he asked them if they were mad, 
and what it was they intended to do. He 
asked if it was for this he had labored 
among them for forty years; if all of his 
efforts had taught them no better than to 
thus profane the house of God ? 

Then he commanded them to kneel. 
“Down on your knees, one and all! What 
though the wicked assail you ? Down on 
your knees, one and all, and repeat Christ’s 
own prayer with compassion!” Saying 
which, he dropped to his own knees and 
prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they 
know not what they do.” His rebuke 
sank deep into the hearts of his people, 
and with sobs and tears, they promised to 
offer no resistance. 

Meanwhile the women had been told of 


30 


Tales from Longfellow 


the fate awaiting them, and had been sent, 
weeping and disconsolate, to their homes 
to pack up their household effects; they 
were told to be ready to embark upon the 
fifth day, and to in no way delay the work 
of departing. 

So they set about dismantling their 
homes, and preparing for a journey which 
was to prove more bitter than Death to 
many of them; and while they were thus 
engaged, the men were kept imprisoned in 
the church for four long, weary days. 

Then alas! all too soon for them, came 
the fifth day, and from all directions the 
Acadian women could be seen driving their 
household goods in heavy ox-wains to the 
seashore. The little children clung to their 
skirts in terror, not knowing what to make 
of it all. 

All day long the boats plied between the 
ships and the shore, and all day long the 


Tales from Longfellow 31 

wains rolled down from the village. At 
sunset the roll of drums recalled the women 
and children to the churchyard. Then the 
doors of the church were thrown open, 
and looking neither to the right nor the 
left, and chanting hymns as they went, 
the men marched down to the shore, where 
their wives and children were waiting. 

Halfway down to the shore, Evangeline 
waited for the procession. Her face was 
deathly pale, and the dark shadows under 
her eyes told the tale of her sleepless nights 
of prayer and weeping. When she saw 
Gabriel coming, she hastened to his side, 
and clasping his arm, implored him not to 
feel so bad, for they would begin life anew 
together. 

While she was comforting him, she sud- 
denly caught sight of her father, and his 
changed looks filled her with such alarm 
that she quickly left Gabriel to go to him. 


32 Tales from Longfellow 

Vainly she strove to comfort him. Her 
words fell upon ears rendered wholly un- 
hearing by grief. He seemed dazed and 
bewildered by this sudden bolt of mis- 
fortune which had sped down from an 
apparently cloudless sky. 

Down on the shore disorder prevailed, 
and everything was in wildest confusion. 
Then came the hurry of embarking, during 
which wives were torn from their hus- 
bands’ sides, and mothers, swept along by 
the guards into the boats, beheld their 
children left behind on the shore; saw 
them stretch out appealing arms to their 
now anguished and helpless mothers. 

Gabriel and Basil were taken on board 
different ships, and Evangeline and her 
father were among those who had to spend 
the night on the shore, surrounded on all 
sides by armed sentries. For darkness had 
fallen before half the Acadians, with their 


Tales from Longfellow 33 

household goods, could be taken on board 
the ships. 

They built fires of driftwood, and hud- 
dled around them in broken-hearted groups. 
Father Felician went from one group to 
the other, whispering words of hope and 
cheer. But when he came to where Evan- 
geline sat with her father, the good priest 
was so moved by the silent anguish of the 
old man, that he could only murmur a 
blessing, and pass on without attempting 
to comfort. 

While they were sitting there, around the 
fire, suddenly a broad red glare lit up the 
southern sky, and as it rolled higher and 
higher, the saddened Acadians knew that 
the cruelty of the English king had reached 
its utmost limits, and that their cherished 
homes, where they had spent so many 
happy years, had been wantonly set on 
fire, and that soon nothing but ashes 


34 Tales from Longfellow 

would be left of the happy village of Grand 
Pre. 

When Benedict saw the flames rise and 
roll down the valley, his over-burdened 
heart could bear no more, and with a 
stifled groan he fell forward on the sand. 
They hurriedly lifted him up, and found 
that he was already lifeless. 

Evangeline feel in a swoon, and when 
she recovered consciousness, she at first 
could not tell where she was. But at 
length she caught sight of the red gleam 
of the burning village lighting up the sky 
overhead, and the pallid, tear-stained faces 
around her. Then memory came back to 
her in one overwhelming rush, and she lay 
there, too weak and stunned to move. 

Then, as if in a dream, she heard the 
voice of the priest telling the people they 
would bury Benedict there by the sea, and 
that, perchance, in some happier season, 





. I I 
■I . B ■ I ,.| 

* 

■ 



















(F. 35) MOUTH OF GASPEREAUX RIVER, GRANDE PRE (WHERE ACADIANS EMBARKED) 







Tales from Longfellow 


35 


they might return from exile, and lay him 
to rest in the churchyard. 

So lighted only by the glare of their 
burning homes, they dug a grave and 
buried him by the sea, and Father Felician, 
with tears streaming down his face, repeated 
the funeral service. 

As soon as day dawned, the work of 
embarking recommenced, and ere the sun 
set, the last of the English ships sailed 
slowly out of the harbor, leaving nothing 
behind but the ruined ashes of Grand Pre 
and a newly made grave on the seashore. 


CHAPTER V 


Ships that Pass in the Night 

So these English vessels departed, bearing 
a nation with all its household gods into 
exile. It was an exile without end, and 
without an example in history. For the 
Acadians were landed far apart on sepa- 
rate coasts, and scattered like flakes of 
snow before the blasts of the North Wind. 

For many years they wandered, home- 
less and friendless, from place to place, 
seeking their kindred and friends. Many 
died of broken hearts after fruitless years 
of patient wandering. 

Among those who wandered from the 
cold northern lakes to the sunny southern 


Tales from Longfellow 


37 


gulf-lands, up and down the entire length 
of the Father of Waters, was Evangeline. 
She was seeking her lost lover. 

She visited many towns, stopping just 
long enough, wherever she went, to make 
inquiries, and visit every churchyard, where 
she passed from grave to grave, patiently 
reading the inscription on all of the tomb- 
stones and crosses, fearful all the while 
that her eye might encounter her name. 

She never saw an unmarked, nameless 
grave that her heart did not sink to the 
depths of despair, for who knew but that 
he might be sleeping there? Very often 
she encountered people who claimed to 
have seen and known him. But it was 
always a story with the same ending. 

Either they had seen him a long time 
before, or it had been in some far distant 
place. One told her that he had met Basil 
and Gabriel out on the prairies, where they 


38 Tales from Longfellow 

had become famous trappers and hunters. 
Another declared he had met them hun- 
dreds of miles to the southward, among 
the lowlands of Louisiana. 

Thus the years dragged by; many 
brave youths in the meantime sought 
Evangeline’s hand in marriage. Among 
them was Baptiste Le Blanc, the son of 
the notary public. But to all their plead- 
ings Evangeline turned a deaf ear. She 
was true to her long-lost love, and through- 
out it all, her constant friend and adviser 
was Father Felician. 

When she was weary and disheartened, 
he it was who cheered and comforted her, 
bidding her renew her hopes, for he had a 
strong inward conviction that God would 
somehow reunite them. And so they jour- 
neyed hither, thither. Once in the beauti- 
ful springtime, when all Nature was smiling 
and glad, they joined a band of exiles who 


Tales from Longfellow 


39 


were going down the Mississippi in search 
of their lost friends and kindred. 

Day after day they floated down the 
stream, and as they floated, the days grew 
ever warmer and warmer. Night after 
night they lit their camp-fires on the shore 
and sat around them, talking of days gone 
by, and of those whom they now despaired 
of ever finding. 

In the evening, while they floated, the 
boatman would frequently blow a loud 
blast on his bugle, so that if perchance 
any of the Acadians were among these 
islands, they might hear the signal and 
answer. But the hope was ever in vain, 
for no voice ever replied, and thus, night 
after night, they sailed on. 

Sometimes they passed great cotton plan- 
tations, where the happy negroes were work- 
ing in the fields, or singing in their cabins, 
for they were rapidly approaching the 


40 Tales from Longfellow 

mouth of the river, where summer reigned 
perpetually. 

Throughout the entire voyage, Evan- 
geline’s heart had been greatly cheered 
with the knowledge that Gabriel had passed 
before her, over this self-same way; and 
she had a strange, unaccountable feeling 
that every stroke of the oars was bringing 
him nearer and nearer. 

One night they camped on one side of 
an island, under the heavy willow trees, 
which completely screened them from sight. 
And as they lay there, deep in slumber, 
a boat which was headed northward, on 
its way to the haunts of the beaver and 
bison, passed along on the opposite side of 
the island. 

In the prow of the boat, his hat pulled 
low over a face deeply lined with disappoint- 
ment and sorrow, sat a young man, arrayed 
in the garb of a hunter. He was moody 


Tales from Longfellow 41 

and restless, and gazed bitterly up at the 
dark sky of night, where millions of stars 
were twinkling brightly. 

It was Gabriel, who had at length given 
up the weary search, and tired of its fruit- 
lessness, was going North to forget his 
sorrows in hunting. At that very moment, 
Evangeline was dreaming that she had 
found him, and if she had only wakened, 
she must have heard the sound of the 
plashing oars, and our story might have 
had a happier ending. 

But alas! she, with the rest of her party, 
slept peacefully on, and Gabriel, all un- 
knowing, passed on, on the opposite side 
of the island. 

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other 
in passing, 

Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the dark- 
ness; 

So on the ocean of Life, we pass and speak one 
another. 


42 Tales from Longfellow 

Only a look, a voice — then darkness again and 
forever. 

When Evangeline awoke in the morning, 
she told the good priest of her dream, 
adding that something within her heart 
seemed to tell her that Gabriel really was 
wandering near them. Father Felician was 
inclined to believe that she had been favored 
with a prophetic vision, for he knew they 
were nearing the towns of St. Maur and 
St. Martin, where he hoped to find at least 
a remnant of the scattered and wandering 
parish. 

He had been told that the region around 
these two towns was a beautiful stretch of 
prairies, and forests of fruit trees; a veri- 
table garden of flowers, with the bluest of 
skies bending o’er it. Indeed, so enchant- 
ing a place it was, that the people who 
dwelt there, were wont to call it the Garden 
of Eden. 


Tales from Longfellow 


43 


He retailed all this to Evangeline, and 
endeavored to keep up her spirits; and at 
sunset, when they entered the river harbor 
of the little southern town, her heart was 
filled with an inexpressible peace. Almost 
the first thing they saw when they set foot 
on the ground, was a herdsman’s house. 

It was built of cypress, and had a broad 
verandah running along all four sides. 
The air was sweet with the fragrance of 
wild roses, which were clambering up the 
verandah in riotous confusion. The house 
was built in the very midst of a beautiful 
garden, from the rear of which a winding 
pathway led through a great grove of oak 
trees down to the flowering prairies. 

And there, just where the garden met 
the prairies, they espied the herdsman 
himself. He was clad in a rough flannel 
shirt, with gaiters and trousers of deer- 
skin, and had a great Mexican sombrero 


44 Tales from Longfellow 

on his head. He was on horseback, and 
blew a loud blast on his winding horn, 
which was immediately answered from all 
sides by the lowing of cattle, which rose 
from among the tall grasses, for he was 
just driving them home. 

When he finally turned toward his house, 
Father Felician and Evangeline were aston- 
ished to see him leap from his horse and 
rush toward them with outstretched arms; 
and as he drew nearer, what was their 
amazement to find that he was none other 
than Basil, the old village blacksmith! 

After they had exchanged greetings, he 
led them into the garden to an arbor over- 
grown with roses, where they sat talking, 
and laughing, and crying by turns. Evan- 
geline waited every minute for Gabriel to 
appear, but as time passed on, and he 
failed to join them, she turned to Basil 
and asked him where Gabriel was. 


Tales from Longfellow 


45 


Basil seemed to be strangely embarrassed, 
and said that if they had come by way of 
the river, they must certainly have en- 
countered him on the way, for he had left 
in a boat but a short while before. Evan- 
geline cried, “Gone! Is Gabriel gone, 
after all this long, weary waiting ?” 

Then she broke down utterly, and sobbed 
out all her bitter grief and disappointment 
upon the old man’s breast. He was greatly 
affected at sight of her sorrow, and tears 
filled his eyes, as he endeavored to soothe 
and comfort her. He declared that Gabriel 
had just departed; that he, himself, had 
devised a little trading and hunting expedi- 
tion, and had sent him North so that he 
might have something with which to occupy 
his mind, and thus forget, for a while, his 
disappointment and sorrow. 

Then he bade her dry her tears, and said 
that on the morrow they would set out on 


46 


Tales from Longfellow 


his trail, overtake him, and bring him 
home for his wedding. Evangeline dried 
her tears, and the good priest whispered, 
“Patience!” Just then they heard voices 
coming up from the river, and headed by 
Michael, the village fiddler, the Acadians 
came from the boats. 

Basil wept tears of joy, he was so de- 
lighted to see them, and nothing would 
do but that they all must go home with 
him, where he hastily prepared supper for 
them. When they were seated at the table, 
he beamed upon them joyously, and asked 
them a million and one eager questions. 

After supper, he talked long and earnestly 
to them, telling them how they might obtain 
all the land and wild cattle they wished, 
for the asking. He begged them to settle 
there, and urged them to begin at once, 
cutting down trees and building homes for 
themselves. 


Tales from Longfellow 


47 


He assured them that the new homes 
would be far better than the old ones, for 
here there would be no King George to 
drive them away, and seize on their farms 
and their cattle. Only, he cautioned them, 
to beware of the fever, the one danger 
forever lurking in this southern Paradise. 

Just then, they heard voices outside, 
and in thronged the inhabitants of the 
little town to greet their old friends and 
neighbors, of whose unexpected arrival 
Basil had taken pains to inform them. 
And what a meeting it was! Tears of joy 
mingled with their tears of sorrow, washing 
away all their bitterness. Many dear ones 
were missing, but many were at length 
reunited. 

After they had all told their stories and 
exchanged accounts of their many varied 
experiences, Michael struck up a lively air, 
to which they had often danced, and 


48 


Tales from Longfellow 


resolutely putting aside all memory of the 
Past, these simple people danced with as 
much zest as if it were but yesterday they 
had danced at Evangeline’s party. 

But Evangeline, herself, could take no 
part in these glad rejoicings. She slipped 
out into the garden, where she wandered 
silently among the trees, thinking of days 
gone by, and of her old home, and her 
father and Gabriel. 


CHAPTER VI 

Evangeline Follows Gabriel 

The following day, Evangeline left on 
her quest to the North, accompanied only 
by Basil; for Father Felician had decided 
that his place was there with his people. 
They wandered on, day after day, and 
wherever they stopped, they heard only 
the vaguest reports of Gabriel’s where- 
abouts, until one day they came to a little 
Spanish town, where they put up at an inn. 
Here they learned that only the day before, 
Gabriel had left the village with his horses 
and companions, and had taken the road 
to the prairies. 

So they resumed their weary search, 

49 


50 Tales from Longfellow 

and with Indians for guides, they followed 
fast on Gabriel’s flying footsteps. On, on, 
and on, till they came at length to the 
land of the Ozarks. And this was the 
hardest of all, for here in the clear air of 
the mountains, it frequently happened that 
they could see the smoke of his camp-fire 
rise into the morning air at a distance. 
At such times they would hasten forward 
at all speed, and reach the place before 
evening, only to find that he had already 
pushed on, leaving only the still smoulder- 
ing ashes of his camp-fire behind him. 

It seemed to these two weary wanderers 
as if Gabriel were bent upon escaping his 
own happiness. But worn out and dis- 
appointed as they were, they still pushed 
North, led onward ever by that will-o’-the- 
wisp, Hope, which springs eternal in the 
human breast. 

Once, as they sat around their evening 


Tales from Longfellow 51 

fire, an Indian woman came into their 
camp, who also bore the traces of some 
great sorrow, which had left its stamp 
upon her features. They learned that she 
was a Shawnee woman, whose husband 
had but recently been murdered by the 
cruel and revengeful Comanches; and that 
she was on her way home to her own 
tribe, among whom she hoped to be allowed 
to pass the remainder of her days. 

They made her heartily welcome, and 
gave her a good meal of buffalo meat and 
venison. She was grateful, and talked to 
all of them in her soft, guttural tones. 
But after the men had retired, she sought 
out Evangeline’s tent, where she sat in the 
doorway, and told the story of her love 
and its cruel, pathetic ending. 

Evangeline wept as she listened, for her 
heart was very tender to the suffering of 
others. After the woman had finished, 


52 


Tales from Longfellow 


she sought to divert her thoughts by telling 
her how she had lost Gabriel. Then the 
Indian told her of an ancient legend, which 
told of a phantom lover, of whom Evan- 
geline’s story had reminded her. Next, 
she told of a little Indian Mission which 
lay on the western slope of the Ozarks; 
and as she listened, Evangeline’s heart 
was filled with a sudden desire to go and 
visit the Mission. 

Next morning she confided her wish to 
Basil, who immediately made ready to 
journey thither. They rode all day toward 
the West, and reached the little village 
just as the sun went down. Here they 
found the black-robed chief kneeling among 
his children before a crucifix fastened to 
a tree. 

The travelers approached very cautiously, 
fearing to disturb them; they slipped to 
their knees, and joined in the silent devo- 


Tales from Longfellow 


53 


tions. But no sooner was the benediction 
pronounced, than the priest hastened to 
them and bade them welcome. Then he 
took them to his wigwam, where he gave 
them food and drink, and inquired how 
he might serve them. But as Evangeline 
told her story, his eyes began to glow with 
suppressed excitement, and as soon as she 
had finished, he told them that scarcely six 
days before, Gabriel had sat in this same 
tent, and told him the selfsame story. 

Basil and the girl pressed him with eager 
questions, and learned that Gabriel had 
gone farther North, but that he expected 
to return to the Mission in the autumn, 
when the hunting season was over. Evan- 
geline heard him as in a dream. She had 
no heart to travel farther, but begged the 
priest to let her remain at the Mission 
until Gabriel came. It seemed the one 
sure chance of ever seeing him again. 


54 


Tales from Longfellow 


The good man replied that his home 
was expressly for those in affliction, and 
that any one in need of religious instruc- 
tion or comfort, might be sure of a hearty 
welcome. So Basil bade her farewell, and 
returned to St. Maur with his companions. 

Evangeline took up her abode in the 
little Indian village, and sought to forget 
her sorrows in loving service for others. 

Days grew into weeks, and weeks into 
months, and the slow torturing months 
dragged by, and still Gabriel failed to 
appear. 

Finally autumn came, and the harvests 
were gathered in and husked amid great 
merry-making. Evangeline, ever ready to 
lend a helping hand, assisted at the husk- 
ing, during which, the red ear betokening 
a lover, fell to her lot; but even its magic 
charm failed to bring Gabriel to her. 

She was thoroughly discouraged and out 


Tales from Longfellow 


55 


of heart; but the good priest whispered, 
“ Patience! your prayers will be answered, 
but it will be in God’s own good season.” 
So she waited with what patience she could, 
and the snows of winter fell upon the land, 
and gave place to the flowers of spring, and 
still Gabriel came not. 

Then, with the approach of summer, 
there came to her the glad tidings, sweeter 
than all the songs of the robin, the thrush, 
or the bluebird, that Gabriel had been 
found far up in Michigan, on the banks 
of the Saginaw River, where he had built 
himself a hunting lodge. 

Evangeline once more felt Hope spring 
up in her weary heart, and hastily procur- 
ing guides, she at once set forth to cover 
the distance between them. 

But she might well have saved herself 
the trouble. For after many days of wan- 
dering, they reached the depths of the 


56 Tales from Longfellow 

Michigan forests, only to find the lodge 
empty, and the hunter gone to parts un- 
known. Utterly crushed in spirit, Evan- 
geline started once more. She visited many 
large busy cities, she visited Indian Mis- 
sions, she searched upon battle-fields, and 
in every camp and out-of-the-way village, 
all without success. 

Years had elapsed since she first began 
her quest, and on her forehead the first 
streaks of silver replaced the brown of her 
hair. Finally she returned to Philadelphia, 
where she had first landed as an exile, so 
many years before. Here she dwelt among 
the kindly Quakers, and became a Sister 
of Mercy. She spent her days ministering 
to the wants of the poor and wretched, 
and far too often she was seen stealing 
home through the dusk of the dawn, from 
the bedside of some poor, friendless brother 
or sister, where she had watched all night. 


Tales from Longfellow 


57 


She had lost every lingering trace of her 
youthful beauty, and was now quite old 
and gray. But her face shone out like a 
star, from the folds of her sombre garb, 
lighted up by a deep inward beauty of 
soul. 

Then it came to pass, that a pestilence 
fell on the city. Wealth had no power to 
stay its avenging hand, and rich and poor, 
young and old, died of the terrible scourge. 
The poor people, who had no friends to 
attend them, were cared for at the alms- 
house, which stood at some distance from 
the city, in the midst of meadows and 
woodlands. 

Here, day after day, Evangeline came 
to wait upon the stricken ones. She moved 
about as quiet as a lost spirit, moistening 
feverish brows and parched lips, and now 
and then closing the sightless eyes of the 
dead, and covering their faces, as they lay 


58 Tales from Longfellow 

on their pallets of straw. One Sunday 
morning, on her way there, she stopped 
to gather great armfuls of flowers, that the 
dying might once more enjoy their fra- 
grance and beauty. 

As she stooped to gather them, she could 
hear the psalms that were being sung in 
the Swedish church. They were wafted 
across the meadows on the fresh morning 
breeze; and in the far away distance, she 
could hear the chimes from the belfry of 
Christ Chruch. 

It was a beautiful morning, calm, and 
still, and peaceful; and as she ascended 
the stairs of the almshouse, she had a 
sudden feeling of peace. Something within 
her seemed to tell her that, at length, her 
trials were at an end. When she reached 
the halls where the sick were, she looked 
around anxiously, and saw that many had 
died in the night. Some of their cots were 


Tales from Longfellow 


59 


empty, and others were already filled with 
strangers, who had been brought in during 
the night. 

She moved about noiselessly, among the 
many attendants, and wherever she went 
the dying turned their heads to smile at 
her, for she carried a feeling of rest and 
comfort with her, and her sad, sweet face 
seemed like that of an angel to these poor 
stricken ones. 

At last her eye chanced to light upon a 
cot near by. She started, dropped her 
flowers, and looked again. Then there 
rang from her lips a cry of such terrible 
anguish, that even the dying started up 
from their pillows. On the pallet before 
her, lay the form of an old man. His hair 
was long, and gray, and thin; but his 
cheeks were flushed with fever, and his 
eyes were shining like stars. His face was 
changed, as faces of the dying sometimes 


6o 


Tales from Longfellow 


are, and he looked very much as he had 
looked years before. And as she looked, 
Evangeline knew that she could not be 
mistaken; the face was too unmistakably 
that of her long-lost Gabriel. 

He lay motionless and exhausted, fast 
sinking into the depths of that sleep which 
knows no awakening, from which he was 
roused by Evangeline’s cry. As she bent 
over him, whispering, “Gabriel, oh, my 
beloved,” he tried to answer her, but his 
fevered tongue refused to move. He could 
only look at her in mute agony; but some- 
thing in the expression of his eyes told her 
that he knew her, as she knew him. 

Meanwhile, before his eyes swayed a 
picture, which Memory was sketching with 
deft and rapid fingers. He could see again, 
as in a dream, the little Acadian village, 
with its thatched roofs and silvery river; 
could see again the orchards, and pastures, 


Tales from Longfellow 61 

and verdant meadows, where he, with 
Evangeline, restored to youthful beauty, 
wandered in sweet content. 

Tears came into his eyes, and he en- 
deavored to whisper her name once more; 
but he had already wandered too far down 
the Valley of Shadows, and only his eyes 
could tell her that the Past was not for- 
gotten, and that his love had been like 
hers, deathless and changeless. 

Evangeline held his dying head to her 
breast, and kissed the lips which were fast 
growing cold. But even as she kissed him, 
the light in his eyes was quenched ; it 
flickered and went out like the flame of a 
little candle. And as she pressed his life- 
less head once more to her bosom, she 
bowed her own head submissively, and 
murmured, “Father, I thank Thee.” 

It was all over now, the fear and the 
hope and the sorrow. All the aching of 


62 


Tales from Longfellow 


heart, and all the unsatisfied longing. 
Evangeline followed shortly after, and was 
buried beside Gabriel in the little Catholic 
churchyard. 

There they sleep in nameless graves, 
unknown and unnoticed, many hundreds 
of miles from the forests which sheltered 
the home of their childhood. There they 
sleep side by side, in the heart of a great 
busy city, whose noise nevermore can dis- 
turb them. After long years of weary 
wandering, they both are at rest there 
forever. 

The forests are still standing, but under 
their sheltering branches lives another race, 
with other language and customs. But 
of all the household stories, which the 
mothers repeat to their children, none is 
more often heard than this tale of Evan- 
geline's sorrow. 


THE COURTSHIP OF 
MILES STANDISH 


63 



A PILGRIM SOLDIER 








, s 


















. 

























































* • ( 












(?. 65 ) 


JOHN ALDEN AND PRISCILLA 


( boughton ) 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES 
ST AN DISH 


CHAPTER I 
The Puritan Exiles 

You have already learned how the Puri- 
tans fled from England, to escape the 
religious tyranny of the King; for in those 
olden days, there was but one established 
form of religion in that country, namely 
that of the King. And whosoever dared 
to differ with the doctrines and forms of 
the Established Church, was persecuted 
in the most relentless fashion, and indeed 
often put to death. 

The annals of English history are filled 

65 


66 


Tales from Longfellow 


with the records of such martyrs, who 
at different times gave up their lives in 
preference to their belief. The Puritans 
disliked all the pomp and ceremony at- 
tendant upon the rituals of the Church 
of England. They wanted a simpler, 
purer form of religion; and so they were 
called Puritans, which was used as a term 
of reproach. And because they endeavored 
to worship God in their own way they were 
persecuted and driven out of England. 

They sought shelter in Holland, where 
they enjoyed religious freedom, and where 
they dwelt in peace for some years. All 
at once they perceived with alarm that 
their children were forgetting their native 
language, and were so fast imbibing the 
ways and customs of the people among 
whom they lived, that one could scarcely 
distinguish them from the little Dutch 
children. 


Tales from Longfellow 


67 


They said among themselves, “This 
will never do. We are English people, 
and our children must be brought up 
according to our own customs, and must 
not forget their mother-tongue in this 
way.” So when chance offered, they 
eagerly embraced the opportunity of ob- 
taining land, and starting life anew in 
the wilds of the western world. 

You all know how one hundred and 
two of them set sail from Holland in two 
little vessels, the Mayflower and the Speed- 
well; how the Speedwell sprung a leak, 
and how they all had to crowd upon the 
one vessel, the Mayflower. 

I am quite sure there is not one among 
you, my little readers, who has not made 
the acquaintance of, and loved the two 
little Pilgrim babies, Oceanus Hopkins 
and Peregrine White, who were born on 
this long ocean voyage. 


68 


Tales from Longfellow 


You are all familiar with the story of 
how they landed at Plymouth Rock, amid 
the sleet and ice of the rock-bound New 
England coast, for it was already cold 
and wintry before they reached their des- 
tination, for in those days of sailing vessels 
it was a matter of long, weary weeks, instead 
of a few days, to cross the ocean. You 
all know how they set to work at once to 
hew down the forest trees, and build log- 
cabins in which to house themselves. 

We may be sure they worked with a 
right good will, for before many days had 
elapsed, there they were, safely settled 
in their rude cabin homes, where they 
cheerfully tried to keep warm through 
the long cold winter. 

And such a winter as that was! Fully 
one half of the little band perished of 
cold and hunger before it was half over. 
Besides which, they were in constant dread 


Tales from Longfellow 69 

that the Indians might creep down through 
the woods and attack the little settlement. 

The unmarried men were taken into 
the homes of the different families; and 
so it came to pass, that John Alden, one 
of the people about whom I am going 
to tell you, lived in the home of Miles 
Standish, the Captain of Plymouth, who 
had come over from Holland at the head 
of this little band of exiles. 

He had lived there as a scribe or sec- 
retary to the Captain. Among those who 
died during that first terrible winter, was 
Rose Standish, the Captain’s beautiful 
wife. And since that sad event, John 
Alden had lived with his benefactor, as 
his sole household companion. 

Miles Standish was short and thick-set. 
He was dark and rather fierce looking, 
with the deep chest and broad shoulders, 
and the martial tread of a soldier. John 


7 ° 


Tales from Longfellow 


Alden, on the other hand, was tall and 
slight and fair. He had golden hair and 
eyes as blue as the sky on a bright June 
morning, and on the day upon which our 
story opens, he was seated at a table writ- 
ing, while Miles Standish was seated at 
a distance, cleaning and polishing his 
weapons. 

Miles was admiring his sword of Damas- 
cus steel, and his breast-plate which bore 
the dint of a bullet which a Spaniard had 
once fired point-blank at his heart. He 
was recalling the incident, and declared 
that if the breast-plate had not been made 
of finest steel, his bones would at that very 
moment have been lying forgotten in 
Flanders. 

John replied that God had preserved 
him to be their shield and salvation, and 
then commented upon the brightness of 
the weapons. The Captain said, “Yes, 






(!•’. 71) MILES STANDISH AND HIS SOLDIERS 





Tales from Longfellow 71 

that is because I polish them myself. I 
tell you, John, if you would have a thing 
well done, you must do it yourself, and not 
leave it to others. If you would be well 
served, you must serve yourself.” 

Then they joked about Miles’ soldiers, 
an army of twelve men, who received only 
eighteen shillings a month; and Miles said 
that at any rate, he was like the great 
Roman general, Julius Caesar, in one re- 
spect, inasmuch as he knew every one of 
his soldiers by name. Then he more 
soberly pointed to the cannons, which he 
had planted on the roof of the meeting 
house, and assured John that he was 
ready to meet any attack which the In- 
dians might make. 

From the window he could see the 
grave of his wife, on the hill by the sea. 
She had been the very first of all those who 
came over in the Mayflower , to succumb 


72 


Tales from Longfellow 


to hardships of that horrible winter; but 
she had been followed only too quickly 
by many dear friends and neighbors, above 
whose graves those who were left behind 
had sorrowfully planted a field of wheat, 
that the Indians might not count the graves, 
and find out how many had perished. 

At last, he sadly turned away, and strode 
up and down the room, buried in deep 
thought. After a while he took down 
the “Life of Caesar, ” from a shelf, upon 
which were three books, which consti- 
tuted his entire library. The second book 
was an Artillery Guide, and the third was 
the Bible. 

He read in silence for some time, while 
John’s pen fairly raced over the pages. 
He was writing letters home, and they 
were filled with the name of Priscilla 
Mullens, a beautiful Puritan girl, who had 
lost every one of her family during the 


Tales from Longfellow 


73 


winter. The letters had to be finished 
that day, to go by the Mayflower, which 
was to sail for England on the following 
morning. 

Finally Captain Standish broke the silence 
by remarking that Julius Caesar was a 
wonderful man. “Now you are a writer, 
and I am a fighter,” he said, “but here 
is a man who could write as well as he 
could fight, and he was one of the most 
skillful fighters the world has ever known.” 

“Yes, indeed,” answered John Alden, 
“ I have read somewhere, that he could 
dictate seven letters at once, and still be 
writing his Memoirs at the same time.” 

“Indeed,” sighed the Captain, “he was 
truly wonderful. He it was who once 
said, “Better be first in a little Iberian 
village, than to be second in Rome,” and I 
agree with him there. Just imagine, he 
was married twice before he was twenty, 


74 


Tales from Longfellow 


he fought in five hundred battles and 
conquered a thousand cities, before he was 
stabbed to death by his friend, the orator, 
Brutus! 

“Why once, when the rear-guard of 
his army started to retreat, and the van- 
guard had begun to follow, because they 
were crowded so closely together, that they 
had no room for sword-play, he seized a 
shield from a soldier, rode to the head of 
his troops, and calling each one of his 
captains by name, bade them order their 
ensigns forward, and widen their ranks, 
so as to give the soldiers room in which to 
use their swords. He won the day, in the 
very face of retreat. That’s what I say. 
If you would have a thing well done, you 
must do it yourself, and not leave it to 
others.” 

Then he quietly added, “When you have 
finished your letters, I have something im- 


Tales from Longfellow 


75 


portant to tell you.” John hastily folded 
his last letter, and said in his most courte- 
ous manner, “ Speak, for whenever you 
speak, I am always ready to listen.” 

But the good Captain now seemed most 
strangely embarrassed. He hemmed and 
hawed, and cleared his throat, and finally 
began in a hesitating manner. 

“The Good Book states that it is not 
good for a man to live alone; and since 
the death of Rose Standish, I have felt 
the truth of this more and more each 
day. I have been sad and lonely, with a 
loneliness which no mere friend can relieve.” 

Then he averted his eyes, and went on 
to say that in his loneliness he had begun 
to think of the Puritan maiden, Priscilla 
Mullens. “She is all alone in the world. 
Her father, and mother, and brother died 
in the winter together. I have watched 
her going from the grave of the dead to 


76 


Tales from Longfellow 


the bedside of the dying, and have thought 
to myself that if there are angels on earth 
as there are angels in Heaven, two have 
I seen and known; and the angel whose 
name is Priscilla, holds in my desolate 
heart, the place which the other abandoned. 
How few men have displayed her courage 
or patience ?” 

John’s brain was in a tumult as he 
asked, “What do you wish me to do?” 
The Captain replied, that although he was 
considered brave, he lacked the necessary 
courage to ask Priscilla himself. He de- 
clared that he was a maker of war rather 
than of pretty speeches, and that even 
had he the courage to approach the maiden, 
he would not know what to say. 

“Now you are a scholar,” he continued, 
“and can say it in elegant language, for 
you surely have read all about the plead- 
ings and wooings of lovers in your books. 


Tales from Longfellow 


77 


So you must go to this maiden, this beau- 
tiful damsel of Plymouth, and tell her that 
a blunt old Captain, a man, not of words 
but of actions, offers his heart and his 
hand; the hand and the heart of a soldier. 
Not in these words, you know, but in beau- 
tiful flowery language.” 

John thought he must be dreaming, 
and he was too bewildered and surprised 
to know just what to say. At length, 
assuming a lightness which he did not feel, 
he said he was sure he could not do justice 
to the subject, and added that if Miles 
would have it well done according to his 
own maxim, he must do it himself and not 
leave it to others. 

But the Captain continued to urge him, 
saying he could go boldly up to a fort and 
summon the place to surrender, but that 
he had not sufficient courage to march up 
to a woman with the same proposal. “I 


7 8 


Tales from Longfellow 


am not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the 
mouth of a cannon, but a thundering “No,’ 
point blank from the mouth of a woman, 
that I confess I’m afraid of, nor am I 
ashamed to confess it.” 

He continued to urge, declaring that 
John would have to do it for him since he 
was skilled in the turning of graceful 
phrases, and seeing that the young man 
still appeared reluctant, he added that 
he asked the favor in the name of their 
friendship. 

Such being the case John thought of 
all Miles Standish had done for him and 
answered, that he could refuse him nothing 
that he might choose to ask in that name, 
since he held their friendship sacred. So 
the Captain’s strong will prevailed and 
John went forth on his errand. 

He was very loath to go, and as he walked 
through the village streets he fought a 


Tales from Longfellow 


79 


hard battle with himself. He had come 
to the new world, solely that he might be 
near Priscilla, whom he had loved and 
hoped to marry from the first. Now he 
dully wondered if his duty to his bene- 
factor demanded the sacrifice of his own 
heart upon the altar of friendship. 

But John was a very good young man 
and withal very religious; and he finally 
came to the conclusion that it was the 
Lord’s will; that he was being punished 
for thinking more of his earthly love than 
of his Heavenly Father. So having once 
made up his mind that he had sinned in 
loving Priscilla too well, he bravely deter- 
mined to accept his retribution, and sink- 
ing all thoughts of self, he hastened along 
on his errand. 

As he went through the Plymouth woods 
he gathered some Mayflowers to take to 
her, thinking that they were very like the 


8o 


Tales from Longfellow 


maiden herself; sweet and simple, and 
modest. They should be his parting gift 
to her, and she should never know how 
great a renunciation he had made. At 
last he came in sight of the new-built 
home, and the people at work in the fields. 

Long before he reached the doorway 
he heard Priscilla’s voice, clear as that of 
a skylark, singing a beautiful psalm. When 
he entered the door he saw her seated 
before her spinning-wheel singing as she 
spun. She had the old Puritan psalm book 
open on her knee. John’s heart sank 
when he thought of giving her up, and 
never before had she seemed so dear to 
him. But he resolutely murmured to him- 
self, “It is the will of the Lord.” 

Priscilla stopped singing as he entered 
and rose to greet him. “I knew it was 
you,” she said, “as soon as I heard your 
footsteps. Indeed I have been thinking 




















4 



4 


t 


(F. 81) PRISCILLA SPINNING ( Barse ) 








Tales from Longfellow 81 

of you all the while I sat here spinning 
and singing/’ John stood awkward and 
dumb with delight, and gave her the flowers 
in silence. He remembered with a pang 
how one day during the first snowstorm 
of the winter, he had broken a path through 
the drifts from the village to her home, 
and how grateful and pleased she had 
been that he had thought of her. 

Again now, as then, she gave him a 
seat near her and then she told him how 
homesick she had been all day for Old 
England. “I have been dreaming all day,” 
she sighed, “of the hedge-rows in England. 
They are in blossom now and are ringing 
with the songs of the lark and linnet. I 
have been thinking of all our old friends 
and neighbors, and of the village church, 
and the quiet graves in the churchyard. 
“Every one is kind to me here and my 
religion is very dear to me; still I cannot 


82 


Tales from Longfellow 


help wishing myself back in Old England, 
I am so lonely and wretched.” 

John thought he saw his chance and 
replied, “ Indeed, I do not blame you. 
Stouter hearts than a woman’s have quailed 
in this terrible winter. Yours is tender 
and trusting and needs a stronger one to 
lean on. So I have come to you now with 
an offer and proffer of marriage, made by 
a good man and true, Miles Standish, the 
Captain of Plymouth.” 

Miles Standish himself could scarcely 
have been any blunter. Priscilla looked 
at him in pained surprise. She felt as if 
he had struck her. Finally she asked 
him, “If the great Captain is so eager to 
win me, why has he not taken the trouble 
to woo me ? ” 

Then John made matters worse by say- 
ing that he had no time for such things. 
Priscilla grew very indignant and demanded 


Tales from Longfellow 


83 


whether he would be likely to find time 
after the wedding. She said she had been 
very lonely and if the Captain had only 
taken the trouble to show that he loved her, 
who knew but that in time she might have 
grown to care for him ? 

Then John woke up with a start and 
began pleading very eloquently for his 
friend. He used every art to show how 
good, and kind, and brave, and noble the 
Captain really was. And as he went on 
praising him, and painting him in glowing 
colors, declaring that any woman in Ply- 
mouth or in Old England itself, for that 
matter, might be proud and happy to 
become the wife of Miles Standish, Priscilla 
suddenly smiled and with eyes over running 
w th laughter softly asked, “Why don’t 
you speak for yourself, John?” 

John Alden rushed from her presence 
perplexed and astonished. He wondered 


8 4 


Tales from Longfellow 


if it were in any way his fault that the 
maiden had chosen between them. Then 
his eye chanced to fall on the Mayflower , 
which was riding at anchor in the distance 
and he suddenly determined to go back 
to England, to sail in it on the morrow. 
He roamed around until dusk, when he 
returned home to find the Captain striding 
up and down impatiently waiting him. 

“Where have you been so long?” he 
demanded. “Her house is not far away 
and here,” holding up the book with which 
he had endeavored to while away the time, 
“I have fought ten battles, and sacked 
and demolished a city since you left. 
Come, tell me all that has happened.” 

John reluctantly began, but when he 
came to the words Priscilla had spoken 
to him, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, 
John?” Miles Standish fell into a great 
rage, and stamping his feet declared that 


Tales from Longfellow 


85 


John Alden had betrayed him as basely as 
Brutus had betrayed Caesar. “Is this the 
reward I merit for sheltering you like a 
brother ? Brutus was Caesar’s friend, you 
were mine; but henceforward, let there 
be nothing between us, save war and 
deadliest hatred.” 

But even as the words left his lips, a 
messenger in urgent haste, broke in on 
his wrath with the news that there was 
great danger of an attack by the Indians, 
who were approaching the settlement. Miles 
Standish hastily seized his sword in its 
iron scabbard from its nail on the wall, 
and buckled it on with impatient fingers. 
Then with a fierce scowl at John Alden, 
he departed with the messenger, leaving 
John to brood over the insult he had given 
him. 

Arrived at his destination, the Captain 
found the council assembled and waiting 


86 


Tales from Longfellow 


for him. An Indian was standing near 
them, stern and grim and defiant. And 
on the table next to the unopened Bible, 
lay a rattlesnake’s skin filled with arrows, 
which he had brought as a token and chal- 
lenge to warfare. 

The council were debating whether to 
send back an answer of war or of peace. 
The gentle Elder was pleading for a mes- 
sage of peace, when Miles Standish stepped 
forward, exclaiming in anger, “Do you 
expect to make peace with these red devils ? 
Did you plant your cannon on the roof of 
the meeting-house merely to shoot at red 
squirrels ? Do you not know that the 
only tongue these savages can understand 
is the tongue of fire, which speaks to them 
from the mouth of the cannon?” 

The good Elder was sadly shocked at 
the use of such irreverent language, but 
before he could make a reply, Miles strode 


Tales from Longfellow 


87 


to the table and seizing the token of war, 
exclaimed, “Leave this matter to me! 
War is a terrible trade, but a trade of which 
I am the master! The smell of powder 
is sweet to me; let me answer this chal- 
lenge!” 

Then he angrily jerked the arrows out 
of the rattlesnake’s skin and grimly refilled 
it with powder and bullets up to the very 
jaws. Then he said in a voice of thunder, 
“Here! take this for your answer!” The 
Indian took it, and glided away like a 
serpent, and was soon lost to view in the 
depths of the forest. 


CHAPTER II 


How John Alden Won His Bride 

Meanwhile, John Alden lay awake all the 
night through. His heart was filled with 
sadness and unrest. He saw the wrathful 
Captain come home very late from the 
council. He stalked back and forth in 
the room, and muttered and murmured 
unceasingly. John could not determine 
whether he was swearing or praying. 

Once, he stood over the bed for a moment 
in silence, and then turned away, saying, 
“I will not waken him; it is best that he 
should sleep on. What is the use of any 
more talking?” Then he blew out the 
light, threw himself down on a pallet, 


Tales from Longfellow 89 

dressed as he was, and covered himself 
with his old campaign cloak. Thus he 
slept, as a soldier sleeps on a field of 
battle fully ready for action. 

As soon as it was dawn, John saw him 
get up, put on his helmet of steel, and his 
armor, and buckle on his sword of Damas- 
cus. Then he took down his musket and 
strode out of the room. John’s heart 
longed to call to him, and ask his pardon 
for everything that had occurred. But he 
remembered his insulting words, and his 
pride sealed his lips. 

He arose from his bed and beheld the 
Captain and his men marching out of the 
village, toward the North, bent upon quell- 
ing at once this sudden Indian uprising. 
He said his prayers, had his breakfast, 
and then went down to Plymouth Rock 
on the seashore, where the Mayflower was 
preparing for departure. 


go 


Tales from Longfellow 


Her master was on shore, impatient to 
be off. He was cramming letters into his 
pockets, stowing away parcels and prom- 
ising the eager people to deliver, in person, 
the many messages they were sending to 
their friends across the water. Foremost 
among them was John Alden. He had 
one foot on the gunwale of a boat, and 
the other still resting on firm rock. He 
was talking to some sailors, but like the 
Master of the vessel, he, too, was eager to 
be off, and put an end to his despair; 
eager to put the width of the whole vast 
ocean between himself and his sorrow. 

Just then he chanced to catch sight of 
Priscilla, standing on the shore. How sad 
and dejected she appeared! She seemed 
to take no note of anything that was 
passing. Her eyes were fixed upon him, 
as if she divined his intention, and she 
looked so imploring and reproachful, that 


Tales from Longfellow 91 

his heart recoiled from its purpose. He 
quickly determined to remain there in 
Plymouth. He had been the very youngest 
of all the men who came over in the May - 
flower , and his foot had been the very first 
to touch Plymouth Rock in landing. Now 
he solemnly vowed within himself, that his 
foot should be the last to leave. 

And now it was time to go. The Master 
shook hands with everyone on shore, sprang 
into a boat, and pushed off for his vessel. 
He was glad to get away from all this 
worry and trouble; glad to get away from 
this land of sickness and sorrow, from this 
land of scarceness of food, and plenty of 
nothing but Gospel. 

The Pilgrims watched the ship until it 
was outlined against the distant horizon, 
and it was with a feeling of pride that 
they noted, that despite all their sorrow 
and suffering, not one of their number had 


92 


Tales from Longfellow 


gone back with the Mayflower. Then the 
Elder said, “Let us pray”; and they knelt 
in prayer on the seashore. 

As they turned to go back to their homes, 
they saw the form of an Indian watching 
them from the top of the hill. But while 
they were telling each other about it, and 
pointing to him, he vanished from sight. 
So they returned to their homes, but John 
Alden remained on the shore, thinking of 
many things, but most of all of Priscilla. 

And lo! as he turned to go home, there 
she stood with outstretched hand, saying, 
“Have I indeed offended you so deeply 
that you will not speak to me ? Surely 
you cannot blame me, that yesterday when 
you were pleading the cause of another, 
so warmly, my heart forgot itself and 
spoke out ? Can you ever forgive me, 
for saying so frankly what I ought never 
have said ? I cannot unsay it, but there 

















































. 


■ 






















’ 






- a -• ■ 














Tales from Longfellow 


93 


are times in life, when the heart is so full, 
that a drop everflows it. 

“Yesterday I was shocked when I heard 
you urging the suit of Miles Standish, as 
if fighting alone could win the heart of a 
woman. Therefore I spoke as I did, moved 
by an irresistible impulse. You will forgive 
me, I hope ? ” 

John replied that he was not angry at 
her, but at himself, for having managed 
the matter entrusted to him so badly. 
Priscilla said that she was not ashamed to 
own that his friendship was of more value 
in her eyes than all the love Standish could 
offer. 

Thereupon they agreed to be the best 
of friends always, and as they walked 
home together, he told her all about the 
Captain and his wrath, how he himself 
had fully determined to go back in the 
Mayflower , but had changed his mind for 


94 


Tales from Longfellow 


her sake, when he found that the Indians 
threatened danger. 

Priscilla was very grateful, and thanked 
John in the prettiest possible manner for 
his offered protection, which she hoped 
she need never be called upon to avail 
herself of. Miles Standish had gone forth 
to settle the Indians, and she had great 
faith in him as a warrior. So she and 
John Alden walked slowly towards her 
home, talking of many things, and both 
feeling more at peace — with the Captain 
out of their immediate vicinity. 

Meanwhile the Captain was marching 
steadily northward. He was moody and 
silent, and hardly deigned to give an 
answer to his men, when they ventured to 
speak to him. He had been accustomed 
to having his own way for so long, that it 
hurt his pride terribly to be flouted by a 
mere slip of a girl; to have a boy scarcely 


Tales from Longfellow 


95 


out of his teens succeed, without trying, 
where he had striven and failed. But he 
told himself, he had only himself to blame 
for his folly. How could he expect a young 
maiden to look with favor upon an old 
rough soldier, who had grown gray in the 
service ? Then he resolved, in the future, 
to be a lover of battles and a wooer of 
danger. 

After marching for three days, he came 
to the Indian camps, pitched on the edge 
of the prairie, where the women were at 
work, busily preparing food, while the 
warriors lay around, talking and smoking 
together. When they saw the white men 
approaching, and saw their armor flash in 
the sun, they at once leaped to their feet, 
and two of them advanced to meet the 
strangers, offering them presents of fur, 
and craftily pretending friendship. 

But the wily Captain knew that they 


96 


Tales from Longfellow 


carried the deadliest hatred in their hearts. 
They were two brother chiefs, tall and 
strong and powerful. One was called Peck- 
suot, and the other was named Watta- 
wamut. They began to parley with the 
Captain, through the medium of an Indian 
interpreter, and begged him for blankets, 
and knives, and muskets, and powder, 
which they declared the white men kept 
hidden in cellars with the plague, to be let 
loose when they pleased to destroy the 
red men, their brothers. 

But no sooner had Standish refused to 
give them muskets and powder, than they 
suddenly changed their tone, and became 
loud and threatening. Wattawamut swag- 
gered up to him, and casting aside all 
pretence of friendship, unsheathed his knife, 
showing the face of a woman carved upon 
its handle. 

Then he said he had another knife at 


Tales from Longfellow 97 

home, with the face of a man on its handle; 
and that, by and by, they should marry 
and rear a large family of children. Then 
Pecksuot advanced with his knife; he half 
drew it from its shield and returned it, 
saying that the Captain was too small a 
man for him to fight with, and advised him 
to join the women at their work. 

When Miles Standish heard these words 
of contempt and insult, his blood began 
to throb in his temples, and leaping for- 
ward, he unsheathed his blade, and plunged 
it into the heart of the Indian, who, reeling 
backward, fell dead to the ground. The 
other Indians gave one terrifying war- 
whoop, and let fly a perfect shower of 
arrows, but the Pilgrims were ready. 

All that the savages could see, was a 
cloud of smoke, from which sped swift 
tongues of fire, with a noise as of thunder, 
before which their warrior braves fell like 


98 Tales from Longfellow 

leaves in the autumn woods. The Indians 
broke away, and ran to the forest and 
swamp for shelter. Wattawamut alone did 
not flee, and for a very good reason. He 
lay dead on the ground with a bullet 
through his brain. 

Miles Standish sent the news of his 
success, together with the head of the 
dead chief, back to Plymouth. The Puri- 
tans placed the head next to the cannon 
on top of the meeting house, and rejoiced 
over his success, and sang the praises of 
their courageous Captain. But Priscilla 
could not rejoice; she could not bear to 
look at the head of the savage; she could 
only thank God that she had not married 
this man, from whom she shrank with 
loathing and fear. She lived in daily dread 
that he might come back and claim her 
hand as a reward for his courage and valor. 

But the summer wore away, and he did 


Tales from Longfellow 


99 


not return. In the autumn, merchant ves- 
sels came over from England, bringing 
corn and cattle to the Pilgrims, and also 
many of their relatives and old neighbors, 
who wished to settle among them. And 
now everybody was busy, helping the new- 
comers build their homes, and hunting and 
fishing to supply them with food. 

Peace reigned in the little village, al- 
though every once in a while, they heard 
rumors of Captain StandislTs skirmishes 
with the hostile Indians. Meanwhile, John 
Alden had built him a new house, with a 
great barred door, and a roof thatched 
with rushes. He had covered the windows 
with lattice work, and had dug a new well 
near the door. 

Then he proceeded to plant an orchard 
around the house, and when that was 
finished, he built a strong new barn, in 
which he installed Raghorn, the snow-white 


ioo Tales from Longfellow 

bull, which had fallen to his share when 
the cattle from England had been dis- 
tributed among them. 

Some thought of Priscilla Mullens mingled 
with every stroke of his axe, and with every 
blow of his hammer. He worked hard 
every day for weeks, but some sweet hope 
which he built in his walls, and dug in his 
well, and planted in his orchard, kept him 
cheerful and happy. 

Priscilla still continued to live alone in 
her old home; and as often as John visited 
her, he found her busy at her wheel, till 
at length he declared she reminded him of 
Queen Bertha of ancient Helvetia, who 
was so industrious that even when she 
went on horseback through the country 
she had a distaff fastened to her saddle, 
and spun as she rode. So he laughingly 
termed her, “Bertha, the beautiful spinner/’ 
and teased her, saying that, in after times, 


Tales from Longfellow ioi 

mothers would hold her up to their daugh- 
ters as a shining example of Puritan in- 
dustry and household thrift. 

To which Priscilla made laughing reply, 
that if such were to be the case, he, him- 
self, must hasten to set as good an example 
to future generations, so that, in times to 
come, fathers might regale their sons with 
tales of the good old times of John Alden. 
So she made him hold her skeins of yarn, 
as she deftly wound them into balls. 

One day, as they sat thus at work, a 
messenger entered the house in great haste, 
bringing the news from the village that 
Miles Standish had fallen in battle, slain 
by a poisoned Indian arrow; that his men 
had been lured into ambush, and cut off 
from escape. Everyone feared that the 
Indians might come to burn and plunder 
the village, and murder the defenceless 
inhabitants. 


io2 Tales from Longfellow 

Priscilla stood silent in horror, but John 
Alden started up as if the arrow which had 
pierced the Captain’s heart had, at the 
same time, struck off the chains which 
bound him. At last, at last, he was free! 
Free to love and claim the woman now 
standing white and trembling at his side. 
Now there was nothing to prevent him 
from clasping her to his heart, and soothing 
her fears, vowing that he would protect 
her always. 

So at length, after many trials, John 
Alden married Priscilla. It was a very 
simple, quiet wedding, at which all their 
Puritan friends were gathered. 

When the Elder finished the service, 
there suddenly appeared on the threshold 
a form clad in armor. What made the 
bride turn pale, and the bridegroom start 
in wonder ? He thought he beheld a ghost, 
but it suddenly advanced into the room, 


Tales from Longfellow 103 

and the people saw, to their amazement, 
Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth, 
whom they had all mourned as dead, alive 
and well in their midst. 

He walked up to the bridegroom, and 
grasped his hand, exclaiming, “Forgive 
me! I have been harsh and cruel, but all 
that is ended now, thank God; and I have 
never before been so much a friend of John 
Alden’s, as I am now.” 

John shook his hand heartily, and de- 
clared that everything but their friendship 
should be forgotten by him, and expressed 
the hope that their friendship might grow 
stronger and dearer with each passing year. 
Then the Captain stood before the bride, 
and making a courtly bow, saluted her and 
wished her much joy. 

The people were greatly rejoiced to find 
their beloved Captain alive and well, and 
crowded around him, asking so many eager 


104 Tales from Longfellow 

questions that he laughingly vowed he 
would far rather break into an Indian 
encampment than to come again to a 
wedding to which he had not been invited. 

The bride and bridegroom stood at the 
doorway for a moment, looking across the 
meadows to the graves on the hillside, and 
beyond that to the barren seashore. It 
did not seem barren to them; to them it 
was a veritable Garden of Eden. Then 
the people began to break up into groups, 
and to go home to their work. John led 
forth by a cord Raghorn, his snow-white 
bull. He had fastened the cord to an iron 
ring in its nose, and on its back was a 
crimson cloth and a cushion for a saddle. 
He insisted that his bride should not walk 
to her new home through the heat and 
dust of the day. Nay, she should ride like 
a queen on her palfrey. 

When he had seated her on the cushion, 


Tales from Longfellow 105 

he whispered, “Now nothing is wanting 
but the distaff, oh, Bertha, my beautiful 
spinner !” So with the good wishes and 
prayers of their friends for their God-speed, 
these Puritan lovers started forth on their 
wedding journey, through the Plymouth 
woods, to their new home. 

And Miles Standish, with none of the 
old bitterness in his heart, but with the joy 
of friendliness lighting up his eyes, watched 
them depart, saying meanwhile to himself, 
“If you would have a thing well done, 
you must do it yourself, and not leave it 
to others; and indeed I should have re- 
membered that no man can gather cherries 
in Kent in the season of Christmas.” 

















































































s 












TWO TALES OF A 
WAYSIDE INN 


107 




































































































































(F. 109) THE BRIDGE OVER THE ARNO RIVER 




A TALE OF A WAYSIDE INN 


THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO 

Once there dwelt in Italy a knight who 
lived in the City of Florence, near the 
banks of the beautiful Arno River. He 
had once been very rich and generous, 
but had squandered nearly all of his vast 
fortune in entertaining and giving banquets 
for a beautiful lady whom he loved and 
hoped to marry. 

But alas ! the fair lady, Monna Giovanna, 
wedded his wealthy rival, and Ser Federigo 
withdrew to a small farm which he owned. 
It was the last of all his possessions, and 
he lived there alone with one faithful 
servant and his pet falcon for companions. 

109 


no 


Tales from Longfellow 


He spent his days tending his vines and 
his pear and fig trees, and in dreaming of 
his lost love. So, many years passed, and 
never once did any of all the gay throng 
who had helped him squander his vast 
inheritance so royally, seek him out to 
offer aid or friendship. 

The bird also often dreamed of the days 
gone by, in which he had followed the 
chase. At such times he would tinkle 
his bells, and blink his eyes at his master, 
as if to say, “When shall we go hunting ? 
Let’s go to-day!” 

One day as Ser Federigo sat dreaming 
among his vines, he saw a beautiful child 
come walking up the garden path who 
greatly resembled his lost love. He walked 
up to the knight and asked, “May I not 
hold your hawk on my wrist, and watch it 
fly?” The knight was startled, the child’s 
voice was so like that of Monna Giovanna. 


Tales from Longfellow 


iii 


He asked, “Who are you, dear child ? 
What is your mother’s name, and where 
do you live?” The child replied that he 
dwelt in the large house beyond the garden 
wall, and that his mother was Monna 
Giovanna. Then he begged to be allowed 
to remain and to play for a while with the 
beautiful bird. 

The man lifted the little fellow to his 
knee, set the bird upon his wrist, and told 
him gallant stories of what it had done 
in the chase, until he had completely won 
the child’s heart and confidence. He 
learned that the boy’s father was dead, 
and that his mother had come with a 
friend to pass the summer in retirement 
in her grand villa, which was half way up 
the hill overlooking Florence. There she 
lived, wandering about in her mourning 
robes, silent and lonely. 

But the little boy was thoroughly enjoy- 


Tales from Longfellow 


ing himself. He spent his days racing 
down the terraces, climbing the garden 
trellis for fruit, chasing the peacocks over 
the lawns, and running wild generally. 
His greatest pleasure had been in watching 
a falcon, which he could see each day, 
soar into sight beyond the trees around 
the garden wall. 

The child confessed that he had run 
away from home on this particular morn- 
ing, to find out if possible, to whom the 
bird belonged; and had by a lucky accident 
discovered the door in the garden wall 
standing open. 

Ser Federigo talked with him and petted 
him for some time. Then he gave him 
some pears and figs, and sent him home. 
He never came again, and the knight often 
wondered what had become of him. 

Meanwhile the boy had been taken sick 
and in all the delirium of his mysterious 


Tales from Longfellow 113 

illness, had cried unceasingly for the falcon 
which he wished for his own. The doctors 
urged the mother to procure the bird if 
possible, as it seemed the one chance of his 
recovery. The poor lady was in despair. 
What was she to do ? How could she ask a 
favor at the hands of the lover she had once 
scorned, and least of all, such a favor? 
How could she ask him to give up his one 
comfort, which was known by all falconers 
to be the best in the whole countryside ? 

But the child continued to cry for it, 
and so one fair morning she and her bosom 
friend, a beautiful golden haired lady, 
paid a morning call upon the impoverished 
nobleman. 

They found Ser Federigo in the bright 
September sunshine delving in the ground 
like a banished Adam, earning his bread 
in the sweat of his brow. He arose as 
soon as he beheld them, and advanced to 


1 14 Tales from Longfellow 

meet them with a low bow, asking in what 
way he might serve them. 

Monna Giovanna replied that they had 
come as friends, and hoped that he would 
forgive her for the Past; that she had 
come, in truth, to beg a favor. But first 
of all, would he not, as a token that he had 
forgiven her, allow them to remain and 
partake of a meal with him, self-invited 
guests ? 

Ser Federigo was delighted, and an- 
swered that her presence and her present 
graciousness more than wiped out all the 
regrets and bitter sorrows of the Past. 
Then he showed them his flowers, and ex- 
cusing himself entered the cottage to pre- 
pare them a meal. Wine he had in plenty, 
and silver goblets and ruby glasses, and 
one or two dishes of gold, and some glistenr 
ing damask table linen, which were relics 
of his bygone days of splendor. 


Tales from Longfellow 115 

But he searched pantry and cupboard 
in vain and could find nothing but bread. 
Alas! how bitterly hard to be so poor! 
He called the maid and asked for food; but 
she replied that since he had not been 
hunting that day there was nothing in the 
house but wine and bread. 

Then suddenly the drowsy little falcon 
awoke and shook his bells. His master 
turned and saw him, and as he looked, 
suddenly conceived a plan. He seized 
the bird; nay, he pounced upon it as 
relentlessly as the poor little victim him- 
self had been wont to pounce upon its 
prey, and with one lithe turn of his wrist, 
his wrist where nevermore the gallant little 
bird would sit, he ended its life, and bade 
the maid prepare it for the coming meal. 

Then he gathered luscious purple grapes, 
and fragrant peaches, and ripened figs 
for the repast, and bright-hued autumn 


n6 Tales from Longfellow 

flowers to grace the festal board. Then 
he summoned the two ladies to the little 
cottage room where the snowy table-cloth, 
and ruby glasses, and gold and silver 
dishes gleamed in the sunlight streaming 
in through the window. 

He was sure it was all a dream from 
which he would presently awake. But 
no! there sat the gracious Monna Gio- 
vanna in his rustic chair, talking in her 
soft, well-remembered tones. When the 
meal was ended, they repaired to the 
garden where she at once proceeded to 
speak of her errand 

She told how sick her child was, and 
how the doctors feared that he would die 
of longing for Ser Federigo’s pet falcon. 
“How can I ask you for what is most 
precious in your sight ?” she cried; then 
added, “But if you could find it in your 
heart to generously grant him his desire, 


Tales from Longfellow 117 

it is, perhaps, possible that my boy may 
live.” 

Tears filled the nobleman’s eyes as he 
listened. “Alas! dear lady,” he cried, 
“how more than willingly would I grant 
what you ask! If you had only spoken 
an hour ago! But now it is impossible to 
fulfill your darling’s wish, for my gallant 
little bird gave up his life this morning, 
that you might have this noonday meal. 
Know, dear lady, that the bird you praised 
so highly at my table was none other than 
my precious falcon, stuffed with cloves 
and spices, to do honor to your gracious 
presence.” 

Monna Giovanna wept silently that he 
should thus have sacrificed his most treas- 
ured possession for a woman’s sake. She 
passed sadly and disconsolately out of the 
garden gate. Within three days her little 
boy lay dead. Ser Federigo heard the 


n8 Tales from Longfellow 

little bell in the chapel tolling ten sad 
strokes, and he knew that her child had 
passed away. 

But three months later at Christmas 
time, the bells pealed out a merrier chime. 
The little cottage in the garden was de- 
serted, but in the villa on the hillside, 
Monna Giovanna sat in the same old rustic 
chair which she had occupied on that Sep- 
tember morning in the little cottage. Next 
to her at this Christmas feast sat her dear 
lord and bridegroom, Ser Federigo, whose 
life-long devotion had at length received 
its reward. 

And carved in wood on the high back of 
the lady’s chair was the image of a falcon, 
beneath which was a date and the follow- 
ing inscription, “All things come round 
to him who will but wait.” 







ANOTHER TALE OF A WAYSIDE 
INN 

KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

Once there was a King of Sicily, named 
Robert. He had two illustrious brothers, 
one of whom was Pope Urbane, who 
dwelt in the Vatican at Rome, and the 
other was Valmond, the Emperor of Alle- 
maine. King Robert was a proud and 
haughty tyrant, who had no thought above 
his own will and pleasure. 

Once while he was sitting in the Cathed- 
ral at vespers, listening to the priests, 
chanting their hymns, he asked a learned 
clerk in his retinue, what was the meaning 
of one particular refrain which they sang 


120 Tales from Longfellow 

repeatedly. The clerk replied that it meant, 
“He has put down the mighty, and exalted 
them of low degree.” 

Whereupon King Robert muttered that 
it was a good thing it was sung by priests, 
and in Latin, a language which no one 
understood, for he would have it known 
among both priests and men, that no power 
existed which could push him from his 
throne. To which the learned clerk made 
no reply. Then King Robert leaned back 
in his seat, and lulled by the chanting of 
the hymn, feel asleep. 

When he awoke, he was greatly surprised 
to find himself all alone in the deserted 
church, which was in utter darkness, save 
where here and there a taper gleamed before 
the image of some saint. He called and 
knocked, and shouted and cursed, until the 
sexton arrived in great haste, fearing that 
thieves were despoiling the house of God. 


Tales from Longfellow 121 

When he called out, “Who is there ?” 
and King Robert, half choked with rage, 
answered, “It is I, King Robert of Sicily! 
Open the door!” the sexton thought it 
was either a madman or a drunken vaga- 
bond. And as soon as he opened the 
portals, out rushed a man, hatless, coatless, 
and breathless, who sprang into the outer 
darkness with a fierce oath. 

King Robert went through the darkness, 
from place to place, bare-headed and cov- 
ered with mud; and wherever he went, 
people asked, “Who are you?” But as 
soon as they heard his answer, “King 
Robert of Sicily,” they laughed him to 
scorn and turned him away. 

At length he reached the banquet hall 
of his own palace. There in the lighted 
perfumed room, upon a dais, sat another 
King, wearing his robes and crown and 
signet ring. Nay, even more! He wore 


122 Tales from Longfellow 

the very features of the King himself; 
but in those features shone a heavenly 
light which Robert’s countenance had al- 
ways lacked. He was in truth an Angel, 
though none thought him other than their 
King. 

As Robert, half-naked and breathless, 
burst into the room, the Angel looked at 
him with divine pity, and questioned, 
“Who art thou?” Robert replied, “I am 
the King, and I have come to claim my 
throne, which you, vile imposter that you 
are, have basely usurped.” 

Every one was certain that the man was 
mad, and the courtiers sprang forward, 
swords in hand, to protect their King. 
But the Angel, quite unruffled, motioned 
them away, and said, “Nay, thou art not 
the King, but henceforward thou shalt be 
the King’s Jester, and shalt wear his cap 
and bells, and lead around an ape for thy 


Tales from Longfellow 


123 


councillor. Thou shalt henceforward obey 
my servants, and wait upon my henchmen 
at the table / 5 

Then they thrust him down the stairs, 
among the servants and henchmen, who 
greeted him with shouts of laughter, and 
derisive cries of, “Long live the King — 
of Fools ! 55 King Robert did not know 
what to make of it all. 

When he awoke the next morning, he 
thought it was all some bad dream, but 
the first thing his eye lighted upon was the 
ape, shivering in the corner. Then he 
perceived that his bed was of straw, and 
that close beside him lay his cap and bells. 
Alas! it was no dream. 

And now the kingdom seemed more 
prosperous than ever, and everyone was 
happy and contented, save the poor Fool. 
He was sullen and discontented, but still 
unsubdued. Whenever the Angel passed 


124 Tales from Longfellow 

him, he would ask sternly, yet tenderly, 
“Art thou the King?” and each time 
Robert would answer in a passion of rage, 
“I am, I am the King!” 

Thus three years passed by; then it 
came to pass that ambassadors, bearing 
rich gifts, came to King Robert from 
Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, saying 
that Pope Urbane had summoned them 
both to meet him in Rome on Holy Thurs- 
day. 

The Angel received them with much joy, 
and gave them beautiful gifts of velvet 
cloaks lined with ermine, and vests of 
embroidered silk, and all kinds of jewels 
and precious stones. 

Then he set out with them for Rome, 
the city of splendor. Among his train of 
richly dressed courtiers and servants, sat 
Robert the Jester, mounted in mock state 
upon an old worn-out horse. He was 


Tales from Longfellow 


125 


clothed in a robe of fox-tails, which flapped 
in the wind; and close behind him sat the 
ape, regarding everything they passed with 
solemn attention. Wherever they went, 
people shrieked with laughter at the poor 
Fool’s expense. 

The Pope received them with great pomp 
and blaring of trumpets, on St. Peter’s 
Square. He embraced them lovingly, and 
gave them his benediction, during which 
Robert the jester burst through the crowd 
into the presence of the Pope, crying out, 
“I am the King! Behold me! I am your 
brother, King Robert of Sicily, and this 
man who resembles me is a base imposter! 
Do you not feel that I am indeed your 
brother ? Does not your heart stir at the 
sound of my voice?” 

He seemed so sadly in earnest, that the 
Pope, silent and troubled, gazed at him 
in distress. But Valmond, the Emperor, 


126 


Tales from Longfellow 


burst out laughing, and exclaimed, “It is 
indeed rare sport to keep a madman at 
your palace for a Court Fool!” So the 
poor Jester was hustled back among the 
people in baffled disgrace. 

The Holy Week sped by, and at length 
it was Easter. Everybody was filled with 
a new fervor. Even the Jester’s heart was 
touched with a feeling of awe and religion, 
and falling upon his knees on the bare 
chamber floor, he prayed for the first time 
in all his life; and in all the great, vast, 
splendid Holy City, no more earnest or 
humble prayer winged its flight to Heaven. 

When the visit was ended, Valmond 
returned to his home on the shores of the 
blue Danube River, and the Angel hastened 
home to Sicily, stopping at many towns on 
the way, and dazzling the eyes of the 
people with his splendor. But when he 
was seated once more on his throne, in the 





























« 



















♦ 


I 












































\ 




t 




















(fr'. 127) A GROUP of MONKS ( Pinturiccliio ) 

(Detail of “Canonization of St. Catherine of Siena.”) 


Tales from Longfellow 127 

great hall of the palace at Palermo, he 
beckoned the Court Fool to him, and bade 
the rest of the company retire. 

Then when they were all alone, he turned 
to the Jester once more and asked, “Art 
thou the King ? ” King Robert crossed 
his hands upon his breast, and answered 
meekly, “Thou knowest best! My sins 
are scarlet, and cry aloud. Let me seek 
some cloister, where I may study the lesson 
of penitence, and walk barefoot across the 
stones which pave the road to Heaven, till 
my guilty soul is shriven, and washed free 
from its stains of sinful pride and tyranny.” 

The Angel smiled, and all the place was 
filled with a holy light. Just then there 
floated to them from the open windows of 
the chapel the chanting of the monks, 
“He has put down the mighty, and exalted 
them of low degree.” And then suddenly 
through the chanting, Robert heard a voice 


128 


Tales from Longfellow 


like a lute say, “I am an Angel, and thou 
art the King.” 

Robert raised his eyes suddenly, and lo! 
the throne was empty, and he was standing 
before it alone, but clothed in rich robes 
of ermine and gold, as in the days of yore. 

And later on, when the courtiers entered 
the room, they found the Jester gone, none 
knew whither, and the King, with a look 
of rapt devotion, kneeling on the floor in 
silent prayer. 











DEC 16 1909 



(COPY npi ro n- r v. 












































